Life Lessons
by enthusiastic-idiot
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy had everything. A grand mansion, servants that heed his every command and a loving son. But greed got the better of him as he asked for the rumored golden touch. King Midas and the golden touch context. Franada Father/Son
1. Rose Garden

_Life Lessons_

_Summary: _Francis Bonnefoy had everything. A grand mansion, servants that heed his every command and a loving son. But greed got the better of him as he asked for the rumored golden touch. King Midas and the golden touch context.

**A.N. **This story just came out of the blue. When my dad was blabbering on and on about past events that seemed amusing to him, I remembered rereading a particular picture book over and over again. And that was King Midas and the golden touch. And since I adore Fatherly Francis and young Canada, I decided to write a fanfic with the two different sentiments. I tweaked the story a little because I felt like it =3= So please enjoy!

**Warnings: **( I don't think there are any...since this will stay as Rated K+)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia (that includes the awesome characters) or the story about King Midas. I just write to entertain myself =3= And to calm the idea bunnies, my fan girl fantasies and to prevent myself from doing nothing.

Chapter 1:

Francis took a sip from the fine china tea cup as he watched his son with a smile. Matthew strolled around the rose garden, peering at the different trees scattered in the garden. He watched the birds, who were taking their morning bath, with wide, curious cerulean eyes. He was silently observing their every move, trying to figure out how they chirp while splashing themselves with water. He knew it was humanely impossible after trying it a few times.

Francis found the sight amusing. He decided to wait for another minute or so before calling his precious son to come. Francis stretched his shoulders, earning a good crack from his joints. His eyes wandered around the place. A vast estate with it's own winery, a green house with an array of plant species and the most beautiful rose garden in the whole kingdom.

_Hard work does pay off. _Francis thought as his eyes landed on his son. Though not blood related, Francis loved his son like his own and will always be ready to sacrifice much of his assets, even his life, for him to stay as the very energetic and smiling young boy Francis raised carefully throughout the years.

Francis glanced at his watch. Play time is over. It was time for Matthew to eat his breakfast. "Matthieu, leave the birds alone and come eat your breakfast." Francis called out with a heavy French accent.

He chuckled at the pout forming on the little boys lips as the birds flew away from the bird bath. Slowly, Matthew stomps his way towards his father, clearly frustrated at the older man's action. "Oui, I'm coming."

Matthew takes the seat across his father's, still pouting. He looks down at his plate. Two pieces of toast with butter smeared on each of the piece, bacon and eggs filled his plate. A cup of milk was placed at the top right and a plate of pancakes at his left. His mood lightened a little at the sight of the fluffy pancakes stacked in a neat pile which was accompanied with a bottle of maple syrup from Canada.

Noticing the little boy's attention shift to the pancakes, Francis clears his throat to get his attention. "Remember the rules Matthieu. Only after you finish eating your breakfast are you allowed to devour the pancakes." Francis reminded him softly, quite proud of him as he retracted back his fork.

"Self-restraint?"

Francis nodded "Self-restraint." He saw the younger nod curtly as he starts to slice up the food into strips before putting it in his mouth. Francis beamed proudly. He had remembered his father's lesson on proper etiquette. Do not talk with your mouth, do not put your elbows on the table while eating where only the basic and most common rules of the book. The French man didn't need to remind Matthew about those. But when he started to teach him about French etiquette, the young child seemed confused at first since he was used to the common way of eating which was as long as it fits in your mouth don't bother cutting it up into bits of pieces.

Francis thanked whichever god that granted his wish. He didn't want to go through teaching the child again. Matthew was never a stubborn kid but during that period of forcing those lessons inside his brain, he showed signs of defiance towards the older man. He skipped his meals whenever the other was away for business and refused to eat anything except pancakes. He refused to do a lot of things with the older man during that period of hell.

"Papa? Are you alright?" Matthew asked, snapping the other from his stupor.

Francis blinked twice before smiling at him. "I'm alright, dear Matthieu." He reached over to ruffle the child's blonde locks which where exactly the same as his but only a bit darker. The young child smiled at the affection, feigning annoyance.

He tries to swat the hand away but to no avail as the hand continues to mess up his hair even further. "S'il vous plaît arrêtez, papa." The boy giggled as his father refused to stop.

"Pas du tout." Francis teased, smirking at the boy.

As Francis pauses to give the boy time to breath, a sound of glass breaking was heard. Francis eyes widen in alert while Matthew cringed. Francis stands up from his seat, tells the boy to stay and briskly walks towards the main hall. There seemed to be a crowd gathering around the center and Francis wasted no time in getting rid of it.

"What happened here?" Francis inquired from the crowd as they turned to each other to answer. "If you don't plan on answering me, I suggest you make a path for me to pass." Francis hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't hire these people to stand like fools. They decided to clear a path for him, bowing towards him a sign of apology for their rudeness a while ago.

The first thing Francis saw was fresh blood stains on the floor and a limp body of a person, a male no doubt about that. His whole body, including his face and mop of blonde hair, was covered with deep cut wounds, which looked like it came from a wild animal, making him unidentifiable. Beside the limp body where pieces of shattered glass, Francis will inquire about that later. Right now, he needed to know the details about the seriously injured boy.

Michaels, the head butler of the house, clutched the wrist of the unknown man and said "He is still alive sir. Barely, but still alive."

"Have you called for help from any doctors?"

"Yes sir. But the nearest one will take thirty minutes to come here." Michaels glanced at the man lying on the floor. "I fear he won't make it in time. And this man is still so young..." Michaels sighs before releasing his grip on his wrist.

Francis ran a hand in his blonde locks furiously. He sighs, he had no choice. Curse his soft heart, Michaels words and his medical knowledge. "Bring him to a room. I'll do what I can."

"Yes sir." Michaels barks some orders to the others about getting a stretcher in the store room and other medical materials from wherever it was kept. Francis didn't keep tabs on what goes on in this house. He left that to the capable hands of his butler, Michaels.

"And Michaels, please make sure Matthieu doesn't see any of this." Francis requested, quite worried about the trauma that might cause to the child.

Michaels smiled at his master. He was growing up to be a responsible father to his adopted son "Yes, of course sir."

**A.N. **Well that's all for the first chapter. Who's the unknown, literally dying, young boy? I gave you hints already in the story. Please review :3 I'll be so giddy with excitement if you do. And I feel like this chapter is too short. What do you think?

S'il vous plaît arrêtez, papa – Please stop, father

Pas du tout – No way/ No

Please tell me if the French translations are off =3= since I'm not a French native.


	2. Meeting an American

**A.N.: **ASDFGHKL; Thank you Lauren, DeiDei and Kitaklaw for reviewing! Best Christmas present I have received this year. =3= So here's another chapter for Life Lessons. Well, at first I thought of Arthur as the damsel in distress (I like using those words, never fail to crack me up) but when I was typing Chapter 1, I wanted another blonde. Arthur will be some other character in this story. I bet it would be quite obvious in this chapter who he will be.

**Disclaimer: **Yea, I don't own it. If I did, there will be more Hetalia episodes featuring the Franada household and Netherlands (he seems interesting. Too bad he only appeared for less than a minute :| )

Chapter 2:

Francis groans as he felt a pair of hands shaking him awake furiously. Can't the person see he's tired after saving the blonde's – calling him unknown, almost dead man was too long for Francis – life? The answer came as a no to Francis as the shaking persists. Francis tries to swat the hand away, he needed the sleep. But the person dodged his limp hand easily as he chuckled loudly. The voice seemed foreign to Francis. It definitely belonged to a teen, below seventeen for it wasn't as low as his voice, and sounded, for lack of better words, obnoxious. Francis would've paid any amount to make the laughing stop. It was more annoying than the shaking.

As the laughing and shaking persists, Francis finally decides to stop pretending to be asleep and face the culprit . Francis' eye lids flutter open , as he jerks his head out from his makeshift pillow – which were his forearms – and registered the pain seeping in his back which was caused by his awkward sleeping position. He then takes notice of a waving, tan, hand calling for his attention... or just trying to see if he's awake. The owner of the hand was on the bed, sitting with the help of dozens of pillows arranged like jigsaw puzzles behind his back. They were in different sizes, design and color.

And judging by the bandages wrapped around his body, this was the blonde he just save "Hey dude! Welcome back to earth!" He greeted with enthusiasm much to Francis surprise. Francis expected him to be unable to even wake up for days due to the blood loss and concussion in his brain. Or writhe in pain as he moves about. But the young teen in front of him was anything but in pain. His azure eyes blazing with excitement? Francis was too restless to confirm. "I heard from the old man that you are the reason why I'm still breathing so thanks man. I'll repay you somehow."

Francis could only nod and say "Don't worry about it. I did what I thought was appropriate in that situation."

The blonde chuckles and slaps Francis' back. For a teen who was injured, his hand felt heavy and left his back with a sting. Francis tried not to wince in pain. "Don't be so serious, dude. You remind me of my caretaker who is probably pissed at me for not coming home. I have a feeling he will arrive here with a picnic basket filled with his _special _food." The blonde chuckled, nervously. He felt his stomach churn at the thought.

"Caretaker? What about your parents?"

The blonde rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly as he says "Well, he's sorta my father but not blood related. He rescued me when I was little so I don't know any details about it." he faces Francis. A sincere smile plastered over his face. "Just like what you did for Mattie, your son."

_Mattie...Mathieu? _"You met Mathieu?"

"Yea. He came in, looking for you and we freaked out because we looked eerily identical." He paused to laugh "We shouted and stammered everything we said. It was amusing."

Francis wanted to slap himself at that very moment. Why didn't he realize that this guy looked identical to his own son? _Cretin. _

"Dude, can I ask you some questions?"

Francis nods "Ask away."

"I'll start by introducing myself. The name's Alfred, what's yours?" Alfred smiled. His English caretaker would have praised him for his polite demeanor, if he was here.

Francis answered the simple question with no hint of hesitation "Francis Bonnefoy. Anything else?"

"Oh. Are you French or something? You have some weird accent when you speak." Alfred said, shifting to a more comfortable position. In doing so, a sickening crunch was heard. "Aw man. Don't tell me..." Alfred reached for his back pocket, not bothering to finish his sentence, but it was too far for him to reach.

Francis decided to lend him a hand. He places a hand on the boy's shoulder and offers to help him. "Let me."

"Thanks man" Alfred flashed him a genuine smile as Francis reached in his back pocket only to find pieces of twisted metal and shattered glass. "Damn! I'm injured and blind at the same time. The gods really does hate me." He whined, childishly. He collects the remnants of his glasses from Francis' palm. He whimpered at the thought of what his old man might do to him.

Francis couldn't help but smile at the sight. He was different but at the same time alike with Matthew. But when it comes to maturity, Francis' little boy was clearly more matured than the older blonde. But there was no doubt he would make a great big brother to little Matthew because he spoke the same language as Matthew did when Francis first found him. Maybe they lived in the same part of the city. And somehow found each other through Francis. Who knows the endless possibilities? _Oh god, I'm sounding more like Antonio. _Francis thought. His Spanish friend liked writing books and articles about new lands he discovered while on board on his ship. He was always cheerful, curious and good with wo-

Francis' train of thoughts were interrupted by Alfred who cleared his throat. When Alfred got his full attention, he starts "Umm, Francis, as much as I like your company, staring at your shirt stained with my blood creeps me out." Alfred pointed one of his tanned fingers at the shirt the older blonde was wearing. "So why don't you change, do some things you need to do and we can talk after wards. It's best for your mind to be empty from every thought before I tell you what happened to me in the forest. Trust me."

Francis looked down at his shirt. It was stained with blood alright and had wrinkles and creases everywhere. Francis decided to take Alfred's advice. He needed to take a long shower to relieve him from cramps anyways. "Alright. I'll be back after an hour."

Alfred gave him a surprised look "That long! What the hell are you planning to do?" he exclaimed.

"Take a shower." Francis answered, simply, giving him a quizzical look afterwards. It was perfectly normal for him to spend more than thirty minutes in the shower. And it was also normal for him to spend hours in the tub if his back was aching. But he had to return this boy to his father. And that was more essential than a relaxing, steaming hot bath.

"What the hell? It only takes about twenty, at the max, to shower!" Alfred exclaimed, pausing as he thrust an accusing finger towards the French man who was standing near the door, the knob clutched in his hand. "Don't tell me you're a gir-"

"That's out of the question!" Francis cuts him off, deeply insulted by his statement. Sure he looked like a girl at the back with shoulder length hair and with his thin build. But he had a stubble. That was enough proof of his gender. _But this isn't the first time._ Francis sighs. "I'll try to be back here before thirty minutes."

Alfred grinned "That's more like it. Gives me more time to explain before my old man comes barging in your house and blurt everything out."

France gives him a confused look."You, I don't know if you either love or hate your adoptive father."

Alfred thrust his thumb towards him as he proclaimed "Well I'm a hero after all, I'm supposed to be mysterious."

"The right word is confusing." The French man corrected. He turns the door knob until it releases a soft _'click'. _"While I'm away, please take it easy. Even if you believe that you're alright, Alfred, your body doesn't agree with you." Frances glances warily at the newly opened wound on Alfred's stomach. Alfred looked down and sure enough the bandages wrapped around the stomach were soaked in his blood.

"I'll ask for Michaels to replace your bandages, just lie down and wait for him." Francis gives the door a soft push and steps out of the room. He closes the door behind him, after hearing the teen in the room mutter some words he couldn't hear. He would ask about that later.

=3=

As he walked towards his room, he bumps into Michaels, already carrying rolls of bandage and a first aid kit in his hands. It seems that Alfred's wounds kept reopening while Francis was asleep. And since the butler was wise – and old – he had a hunch that he reopened one again. Francis commended him for that.

"And Master Francis, another maid tripped and broke another one of your cups today." Michaels informed.

Francis sighs "Again? Well, we can always replace it but they should learn to be careful next time."

Michaels nodded in agreement "I've already warned them sir." The butler glanced at the medical supplies in his arms "Well, I better should get going before he starts bleeding heavily again."

Francis waves him off "Of course. And did Matthieu eat his breakfast?"

"Lunch sir." He corrected him. Amused at how he lost track of time. "And yes he did. He seemed quite glum though. He only had his polar bear to accompany him."

"Oh." Francis muttered, softly. He always accompanied the boy whenever he was here. And times like these didn't happen quite often. With the country's economy remaining aleatory and unstable. "Tell him that I will eat dinner with him, together with Alfred."

Michaels chuckles softly "You always know how to lift Matthew's mood, don't you Jean?"

Francis smiled at the old nickname, feeling a little nostalgic at that moment. "Mère always came up with the craziest nicknames."

"I don't think it's a crazy nickname. She named you after a brave and wise French heroine after all. Your mère wasted a lot of time coming up with the nickname so give her some credit." Michaels explained. He knew that the other was quite familiar with the story how his nickname was made.

"Reminiscing Michaels, that's a new one." Francis teased.

Michaels shakes his head "Childish Jean, you will never change, won't you?"

**A.N. **And that's it for Chapter 2. I've decided to keep every chapter at least 1,000 words. Writing Alfred is hard. I feel like he's a little OOC also Francis. I didn't put his accented letters (idk what you call it) like when he says the letter 't' it comes out as 'z'. I've seen many fanfics having it but I didn't want to put it (lazy ass =3=). And I enjoyed typing Francis and Michaels conversations, rids away my writer's block. And Michaels is old with wrinkles and everything. And also Alfred's 14 while Matthew is 9 (5 years age gap ) Just for everyone's information :3 And I'm sorry there was no Canada in this. I wanted to focus on Alfie. And also Michaels character development. Next chapter I'll try to write Franada fluff ;D

Please review? :)

Translations (please tell me if it's inaccurate):

Cretin- stupid/idiot

Mère- mother

~enthu-idiot =3=


	3. English tea drinker

**A.N.: **After hundreds of writer's block and thousands of hours lazing around in the internet ( reading other people's stories in other anime – really don't know what goes into my head as of the moment) the new chapter has been written! Yay! I probably have lost readers because of the delay, yea... Me and my lazy personality. And I can't blame school now since I'm on vacation so yea. Sorry about the delay but here is the next chapter.

(well, I don't know if this is good enough because my brain took a vacation after school ended. Really.)

I am really grateful for every review, alert and fav for this story! But I appreciate reviews more ;D

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 3:

"So what are we doing here again?" Alfred asked, watching the father and son duo load their guns from his wheelchair.

As much as he wanted to wheel himself closer to the two, he couldn't because of one main reason: Michael. Michael not only made sure that the knot of his bandages were too tight for movement but he was also glaring daggers at the young teen, not wanting the lad to open another wound that would prompt Michael to replace it yet again.

Alfred glances around, a pout making its way to his face when he hears no response from any of the people in the area. "Are you guys off to go goose hunting or something?"

"Elk hunting," Matthew answered, loading his gun with bullets.

"And you, Francis, allow a child to carry a gun with live bullets?"

"It's a tradition, you see, and he is learned in using a gun," Francis answered, buckling the straps of his boots together. He nods towards Matthew and waves good bye to Michael and Alfred. "Stay safe."

"Yea, yea, mother," Alfred scoffs. He really didn't like how Francis treated him as a little kid who always gets into trouble.

Alright, the last part of the sentence maybe true and both Alfred and Francis knew why. With Alfred being a son of a wizard of some sort – his father seemed like a jack of all trades to Alfred, he did the cooking, the chores and the magic in the household – he was bound to get in trouble sooner or later. He was a troublemaker even without the magic and Alfred can never forget the look on Francis' face when he said his father was a wizard.

He laughed so hard and opened one of his wounds because of it and Michael was very displeased..._and pissed. _

But Alfred didn't expect the kid treatment he got from Francis after wards. After he told the whole story – to summarize it all, he basically angered a wild beast he can never dream of defeating and said wild beast kicked his butt hard enough to render him unconscious – Francis always reminds him of his meals, – _Eat your meals on time, Alfred –_ baby sat him – practically like watching him and making sure he's not injured when Michael's busy – and, worst of all, he spoon fed him _once, _at dinner, in front of the pretty maids, Michael and Matthew. And the dog if you count him.

The whole point of this is that Alfred will never stand for spoon feeding. No matter how the food taste, no one is allowed to grab his spoon and scoop up the food and make plane noises – which Francis never did – to get him to eat.

Alfred pouts again at the undignified manner he showed at dinner, yesterday. He actually let Francis feed him without any tantrum which was very weird in so many levels. Even Arthur had to restrain him when he spoon feeds Alfred before when he was down with fever. Well, that's another story for another time.

Maybe the long, wavy blonde hair and his thin frame – with the exception of the nasty stubble – made Francis look like a mother, _with the exception of his nasty stubble and his deep voice –_ Alfred shall repeat it twice.

Well, Matthew is still his number one kid no matter what. If Matthew asked for chicken, he gets chicken, if Matthew asked for a polar bear, he gets a polar bear. Anything's fine as long as it's not sharp, pointy, poisonous – you get the picture. Nothing that can cause harm to his son.

Alfred sighs, why can't his stubborn father be like that. "Hey Michael, what are we having for snacks?"

Michael cocked one of his eye brow. "You're hungry already?" he asked as he continued slicing the tomatoes and frying the ham in his makeshift kitchen which Francis ordered yesterday.

"I'm injured."

"That's not a very good reason." He flips on of the hams over and toasts the slices of bread.

"I'm a pig..." Alfred mutters, softly.

"I am very aware of that."

"Damn it, Michaels! Just get me some food." Alfred wheels himself nearer to the makeshift kitchen, waiting for Michael to serve the food.

Michael sighs. "I'm worried about your calories intake, Alfred."

"Stop worrying, I have my dad for that."

Michael glances at the impatient blonde and sighs for the nth time, he always had a soft spot for young lads like him. "Alright, just wait a few minutes and I can serve you a sandwich or two."

Alfred grinned. "I owe you Michael."

"You owe me for replacing your bandages thrice a day, remember that."

"Yea, yea."

* * *

><p>Elk hunting with Matthew was never this terrifying and gloomy. When Alfred told Francis he was attacked by a wild beast in a <em>forest –<em> Alfred should be more specific from now on – Francis couldn't help but shiver at the thought of the same wild beast appearing out of nowhere to exact his revenge to Alfred, a _blonde. _And Francis had to tell Matthew that they would postpone elk hunting for another day which brought a tantrum from the usually quite son. And is the cause of the gloomy atmosphere in the air.

Matthew was still a little pissed at him since he insisted on staying a meter away from Francis. Who could blame the kid? His father who just came back from a very long business trip, finally has time for him and a badly injured teen comes in and waste a bit of the time and then his beloved father tells him he was going to cancel their elk hunting – practically telling him they would spend time together in another time.

Francis knew everyone was on Matthew's side.

Really, elk hunting was never like this at all. Usually Matthew would be sitting on Francis shoulders to get a better view of the forest and where the elks might be staying. And he would fire from Francis shoulders, accidentally hitting Francis with the base of the gun some times. But Francis is a man and would take the pain as a man.

But, right now, since they are fighting and all and Matthew doesn't want to apologize first, Matthew refuses to get on Francis' shoulders and because of his short stature – since he is still a child –, Matthew could barely see the elks frolicking in the forest. So far he has only shot one elk while Francis shot three. And Francis wanted to leave it like that or else they wouldn't be able to carry it all the way back to where Alfred and Michael was.

"Matthieu, lets go back," Francis offered, with a kind smile plastered on his face.

Matthew shakes his head, stubbornly. "No, I don't want to lose to you, Papa."

"But Matthieu..." Francis trailed as he glances at the carcasses sprawled on the floor. "You can't possibly think we can carry these by ourselves. You can only carry one."

Matthew sighs and says, "If Papa didn't kill so much I could have killed one more elk."

Francis rolled his eyes. _What a kid, blaming his own Papa. _"That's not very polite, Matthieu."

"You're being unfair too!" Matthew yelled back and Francis had to blink twice to make sure it was his son. Over the years, when Matthew gets really angry with anyone he would only lock himself in his room and refuse to talk to anyone. He was a silent child since he was young so the sudden outburst was unexpected.

Matthew kicked the ground beneath him and mutters, "I was being good when I patiently waited for Alfie to recover in your care and you planned on canceling our elk hunting. How could you."

Francis scratches the back of his head. "You're still on with that, Matthieu. I apologized, didn't I?"

And then Matthew lets out a _hmph _and starts towards where Alfred and Michael were. He had a better sense of direction than his father does so he always led the way. On his shoulder was the elk he had shot which was smaller than Francis'.

Francis then sighs again as he juggled the elks he killed on his shoulders. He had three, heavy elks since he killed them. And the rule was carry what you killed. He was probably a meter or two from Matthew since the child had only one, light elk on his shoulder and he practically started walking ahead of him.

When he arrived on the site, he blinked numerous of times because, counting himself, there were four blondes in the area. And the blonde that had huge caterpillar-like eye brows was pinching Alfred's right ear and yelling incoherent words in the fastest possible.

Francis sets down his elks on the ground before asking, "Who are you?"

The blonde looks up and says, "This bloody twit never told you about me?"

Francis glances at Alfred who was mouthing the word father. Guess talking about wild beasts made him leave out the most important detail. His father. "If I were to guess, you're this person's father."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Unfortunately?" Alfred yelled as he cringed in pain at his father's pinch.

"Yes, unfortunately. My name's Arthur Kirkland and this bloody git over here is my son Alfred but you probably know that already," he said, offering to shake Francis' hand.

"I'm Francis Bonnefoy and this is my son Matthew." Francis gestured to the boy who was behind Michael, probably terrified of Arthur. He took Arthur's hand and shakes it, politely.

Arthur retracts his hand back and says, "For a Frenchman, you are pretty smart," Arthur said, with a hint of sarcasm.

"For an Englishman such as yourself, you are doing an _excellent _job of keeping an eye of your son," Francis retorted back.

"Why you..." Arthur fumed. He really hated the French no matter how pretty and handsome they all look. And no matter how nice their wine tastes, he was never going to like the people who brews them. _Narcissistic bastard. _"At least I don't look at the mirror for the whole day and admire myself."

"You don't have any proof."

"So, you also don't have bloody evidence that my parenting abilities is worse than yours," Arthur pointed out with a smirk.

"What is going on, Alfie?" Matthew asked the boy, squatting beside him.

Alfred grins, rather enjoying the banter happening. It was better than getting scolded and punished by his old man so he was happily watching the two fight. "Our old geezers are fighting."

"Old geezer?"

"Yea, our old mans are fighting, Mattie." He tousles Matthew's hair and continues, "And if I know my father, he's not the type to lose to a Frenchman."

Matthew thinks for a while, remembering the times his father has confronted English people. "My father also doesn't like losing to people like Arthur."

Alfred chuckles, "It's in their blood, you see?"

Michael sighs. "I'm getting too old for this." And pinches the bridge of his nose.

Alfred looks up and says, "Welcome to the party, Michael, with our fathers as entertainment."

"I'm not sticking around. I'll be cleaning the elk over there." Michael points at the spot near the trees. "If you need me just approach me there."

Alfred and Matthew nods and continued to watch their fathers battle it out, verbally of course, as Michael walks to grab the first elk he would clean.

And that's how Francis met Arthur, a wizard.

TBC

**A.N. **I think this is the longest chapter so far or maybe not... Please tell me if there are any errors, I was too tired to scan it again.

So Arthur has finally made an appearance since he's Alfred's father and all.

Tell me what you think, please. Good? Bad? No flames though.


	4. Bad Friends Trio

**A.N.: **I was happy to find out that I haven't lost many readers! I love you guys! So here's an early update since I plan to end this story before classes starts, yet again. (But all my plans never happen so... yeah...).

Thanks deidei for reviewing every chapter! Lots of love for you~

**Disclaimer **_(Oh how I love thy disclaimer)_**: **Nope, Himaruya (is that how to spell his – I'm pretty sure he's a dude, right? – name. The guy's the definition of awesome sauce.) hasn't given the Hetalia enterprise to anyone – _me_.

Chapter 4:

Arthur – the English _bastard_ – blows at his steaming cup of coffee, trying to forget the throbbing pain on his head. Same as Arthur, Francis tried to drink the pain away, still glaring once in a while at the English man in front of him. They knew they were acting like children. Puffing their cheeks, scoffing at each others action and folding their arms.

If they were adults they would settle this by getting themselves drunk but since Michael is a doting butler – _mother hen –, _no booze tonight.

Arthur sighs, exasperated at how things went. Never had he expected getting hit in the head by a smiling, old man. He was raised as a gentleman/ wizard and has lived for quite a an immortal wizard had its own it seems anything can happen in good old France. "Listen frog breath."

"Yes, English, tea drinking bastard?" Francis asked with a hint of sarcasm. No way was he listening to him.

"Since it's my job to be mature, I apologize for my behavior. It won't happen again," Arthur said through gritted teeth, with no hint of sincerity.

But it was good enough for Francis who offered his hand. "Temporary peace."

Arthur takes the hand out of habit and replies, "Until I leave with my son."

"Fair enough." They shook hands, like adults.

But Francis still wanted to solve this through drinking. Sinful pleasures, Francis would dub.

Matthew sits on the cemented ledge, his feet dangling in the air, as Alfred leaned against it, afraid it would break into two at his weight. Alfred had a can of juice in his hand – it seemed the house didn't like carbonated drinks – as he gazed at the extravagant work of art painted above on the ceiling.

It was weird for him to be in awe with such a boring work – since it doesn't move like the robots of Kiku – but it was a work by Michelangelo – _a French artist..._ "Hey, Mattie, is Michelangelo French?"

Matthew was smarter than Alfred was in terms of this things – _undoubtedly. _Alfred was just brilliant in things that revolve around fun or getting wasted with food, _like hamburgers. _

"He's Italian. I'm pretty sure."

Alfred chuckles. "Smart ass."

Matthew raises his eye brow and asks, "Smart ass?"

And out of nowhere, a metal pitcher hits Alfred's head. "What the-" Alfred looks up and sees Michael glaring dagggers at him. It was destroy-Matthew's- profanity-free-mind-and-I'll-not-feed-you glare which Alfred received a lot whenever he opened one of his wounds. Alfred nervously waves at him. "Hey, Michael."

"Hello to you too, Alfred."

"Michael, what's smart ass?" Matthew asked, innocently. Now, Alfred felt guilty. Destroying an innocent mind wasn't really fun even by a bit.

Michael sighs. "Please don't use such a word, Matthew. Your father won't approve."

"Papa? Why?" Francis never disagreed to any of Matthew's words. He was pretty understanding in Matthew's point of view.

"It's English slang," Michael answered simply. Michael then nudges Alfred's stomach. "Right, Alfred?"

Alfred nods, rigorously. "You're right, Michael."

"Ah..." Matthew trails. His father wouldn't like it just as Michael said. If the anti-English men sign wasn't any evidence of that, the ban of English products was. It was in the blood, his father would explain. "You're maybe right, Michael."

"Aren't I always?" Michael states, simply. He glances at his watch and tsks. "Time to pay the big children a visit."

Alfred looks at the item he was carrying and asks, "With booze, really Michael?"

"It's my job to bring the bone to the dog."

Alfred blinks twice and burst into hysterics. "G-good one, Michael!"

"Yes, yes. Now I must hurry." He then waltzes away, briskly, avoiding the many maids passing to and fro, carrying many things from brooms to buckets filled with water.

Alfred, noticing the rush of maids, asks the little master of the house, "What are they up to?"

"Oh, Sandra and the others?" He glances at the maids and answers, "They're cleaning the stables. Papa's friends, uncle Antonio and uncle Gilbert, are coming to horse ride. But I doubt Papa even remembers. He always forgets."

"Antonio? Haven't I heard that name before?"

Matthew looks at Alfred. "You have? He's a curly haired Spaniard."

Alfred scratches the back of his head, trying to jog back his memory. "I guess not."

Matthew smiles. "He's a friendly man who brings many churos and Gilbert is a fun person. He lets me break some rules when Michael is not looking."

"Really?" Alfred exclaims. "We must meet them right now!" The thought of breaking one of Michael's rules seemed intriguing,

"They haven't arrived yet."

And then the doorbell rang, repeatedly.

"Guess they're early today." Matthew jumps from the ledge, patting the dust from his rear end and front, and starts towards the door. The doorbell still ringing. "If we don't hurry, everyone's ear would bleed from uncle Gilbert's doorbell ringing skill."

"What? Doorbell ringing skill?"

Matthew nods. "Uncle Gilbert learned from the best. From old man Fritz."

"You kiddin' me but it seems interesting, anyways."

"What's taking the bearded lady and his little French accomplice long?" A red-eyed Prussian complained, puffing his cheeks in frustration.

The Spaniard beside him smiles, meekly. "Maybe they're sleeping. It's almost time for a siesta anyways." He carried a plate filled with freshly baked churos. Francis' little child love them so much just like how Lovino loved tomatoes.

"Oh really. You're too easy-going, Tonio."

Spaniard chuckles. "That's how people should be, Gilbo."

"Yeah, whatever. I want to ride my awesome horse already."

"It's actually Francis' horse, Gilbie."

"Tonio."

Antonio smiles at his friend. "Yes, Gilbo?"

"Shut up."

TBC

**A.N. **Sorry it's short. I couldn't think of anything else. I'll try to update soon.

**Edit: **Uploaded it late. I'm sorry again for the delay.

Reviews still very appreciated here so please review ;)


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